


Five Times Sparrow Didn't Say Anything

by NoxumBoots



Category: Fable 2 (Video Game)
Genre: (Just a little, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Garth is done with everyone, M!Sparrow, PTSD, Reaver is a flirt, TooStubbornToDie!Sparrow, and mostly towards the end), and pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxumBoots/pseuds/NoxumBoots
Summary: ...and one time he spoke up.Sparrow didn’t like to talk, not really. He grunted and whistled and cheered, and he danced and clapped and made funny little noises that didn’t make much sense, but he didn’t talk. He wasn’t mute, and he wasn’t shy. It just wasn’t something he did.Of course, that didn’t mean his muteness wasn't a problem from time to time.





	1. When He Got That Hair Accessory

Flowers grew in Old Town.

 

They were pretty, colors of purple and gold and blue. The yards and street bustled with them, windowsills bursting with color. Sweet smells filled the air, the buzzing of bees and the warm breeze of summer.

 

And yet, Sparrow couldn’t find the willpower to like them. Not one bit.

 

It was selfish of him, yes. Who could hate a flower, such a delicate thing with silky petals, that had never harmed a single thing in its short life? If a man hated flowers, he thought, there was something dreadfully wrong with them. Did that mean there was something wrong with him? Maybe.

 

He hated those flowers. Why were they so pretty? Why was Old Town so nice and polished? Why did the constable Derek, now sporting the title Captain, look upon him so cheerfully? Why was everything in this town so terribly, horribly ignorant? Didn’t they care that his sister was gone? Did she not matter at all to them?

 

He hated it so much his stomach curdled. Petty, yes, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Rose was dead, and the world had continued like nothing had ever happened. Rose was dead, and there were flowers in Old Town.

 

Dog, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. Every flower was interesting, every alley needed to be explored, and every passerby had to be sniffed and licked. He would romp into some poor sod’s yard and started pawing at the dirt, then whining at Sparrow to help dislodge whatever he’d found. Most of the times it was a worthless item. Other times it was something pretty.

 

And there was that instance where he’d found Dog chewing on a condom he’d unearthed.

 

The two of them, Sparrow the human and Dog the dog, had a tug of war battle over a dirty condom. They attracted quite a few looks, from men and women and kids, but he was a bit too focused on making sure Dog didn’t eat that disgusting thing and choke to see their expressions.

 

The battle ended a block or two down when Sparrow got a grip on Dog’s collar (really, it was just a belt that had been repurposed) and yanked it and the condom away from each other. He opened his jaw and whined, looking quite sad. Sparrow couldn’t understand why Dog wanted this thing. He scolded the dog softly as a nicely-dressed lady looked at them, laid eyes on the item, and promptly blushed and speed-walked away.

 

A bit later, he got a pretty good scolding himself from a constable he didn’t recognize for kicking a chicken down the street. Ever since his hero blood had been awakened, he’d had to adjust to his new strength. Punch a bandit in the face? Boom, neck broken. Jump at a rock in a river? Nope, overshoot and fall right into the water. Kick a chicken? That thing was gone for good, man. He almost felt sorry for the hen (not really).

 

Blah blah blah, kickin’ livestock was disruptive and illegal, blah blah blah. He just stood there as he was chewed out by this guy. It was fair to say he wasn’t really paying attention to what the man was saying. His eyes landed on a stand across the way. There is only one good thing that he can see coming from the sickening perkiness of his old home: everyone who recognized him gave him a discount. Thanks to them, he was able to replace the rusty sword and striped pants he’d came into town with (honestly, they were falling apart and two sizes too big). They were all smiles and ‘oh, I remember you!’s. How they recognized him, he had no idea. He felt like he was much different.

 

The stand was selling bread, pastries, fruit, and a little girl.

 

...wait a minute.

 

The world exploded into action not a moment after. The girl bolted with a loaf of bread, the stallkeeper shouting after her. The constable who was grilling him turned to run after her, and before he knew it, he had a choice to make.

 

Once as a kid, he’d done something very, very stupid. Rose was sad, and he wanted to cheer her up. He’d left Old Town and went into the Square. He’d snuck around, waited for the right moment, and snuck a piece of apple pie from under the man’s nose. Sadly, he was spotted and called out almost immediately. The next few minutes had been terrifying. Shouts and yelling, the clanging of tins and swords and barrels knocking into each other, trying to duck and find cover, and move move move move because if there was one thing he knew, it was this: if he was caught, he’d be separated from Rose forever. So he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, and quickly got lost in the alleys of Old Town. He’d cried a lot that night, but Rose had got her pie slice. She told him, sternly and lovingly, never to do that again.

 

So he sympathized badly with the kid as she ran, weaving through legs and stalls with a sort of clumsy grace. Yelling and shouting, and the hustle and bustle of people: mostly surprised, and a few angry.

 

She was too slow; he could tell that pretty easily. There was no way she’d escape. So, acting on complete instinct, he used a gift he’d gotten from Theresa and the Chamber of Fate: magic.

 

He felt a little shame when the constable was smacked with a force push from behind. He let out a shout of surprise, falling face-first onto the road. There were gasps of surprise and horror at the sight of the spell, but the girl barely spared a moment, only looked at the man on the ground for one second and kept running, vanishing from sight.

 

He let out a huff as the constable righted himself, looking thoroughly shaken. Once he saw that the man wasn’t injured (besides the bruise that was most definitely going to form on his forehead and back), he spun around and marched back through the people watching. They quickly parted way for him, fueled by fear. He paid them no mind as he went up to the stallkeeper, who was pale as a sheet and had nostrils flared.

 

He dug in his bag. He’d used most of his money on supplies, but he had just enough left for this. He smacked his hand down onto the table, and left the gold coins on the table.

 

The shop person’s reaction was mixed. “What are you-”

 

He narrowed his eyes. They paused, then took the gold coins as payment for the bread (though they didn’t seem too happy about it). It was only when Sparrow seemed satisfied and started to leave that everyone relaxed, though he still had a good many eyes upon him.

 

He thought that was that and was about to head back to the market to meet Theresa, but Dog wasn’t by his side anymore. He did a double take, then looked around anxiously. Nope, not there. Dog wouldn’t just run off without a reason, right?

 

 _Where the hell did you go?_ He started further down the streets, looking into alleyways and in yards, trying to find the dog. He couldn’t have gone far, right? Right? Dog could run fast, but he wouldn’t run away, right? _You’d better not be eating another-_ Excited barking cut off his own thought. Relieved, he rushed over to where the sound came from.

 

He peaked around a wall to see a wagging tail and tapping paws, and the little girl giggling as her face was licked. She held her bread away from the dog and the ground, her feet kicking playfully. “Hey! S-stop that!”

 

He felt his heart soften. Dog was a very good dog. He always cheered people up, full of energy. Seeing the dirty kid smile as she was given puppy love made him feel warm. When the girl spotted him, her smile fell slightly. Dog barked, tilting his head and wondering why the giggles had stopped. She sat tensely, before starting to her feet. “H...hello, sir.”

 

He waved, giving what he hoped was a genuine look. _Hello._

 

Dog sat by her ankles as she held the bread in front of her. Did she think he was going to take it back? He hoped not. He wasn’t going to take what was likely her first nice meal in a while. To his relief, she just said, “Thank you for what you did back there. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but I thought I was a goner.” After a moment, one of her hands went up to her hair, tugging something out. “Here. I want you to have this. ...I know it’s not much, but…”

 

She placed it into his hands. It was a small butterfly clip, magenta colored, with little designs on the edge of the wings. It was a bit damaged and dirty, but to him, it was priceless. He held it gently, as if it were a baby bird.

 

Another bark yanked him out of his thoughts. Dog was trying to get the girl to play, but she shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” She waved to the mutt and to the man, smiling softly. “Bye.” And then she turned and was gone.

 

* * *

 

“I apologize for the delay. Events are moving quickly indeed.” Theresa paused, her glazed eyes narrowing.  “...Sparrow. What are you wearing?”

 

Sparrow didn’t say anything. He just tilted his head smugly, the clip in his hair glinting in the setting sunlight.

 

After a minute, Theresa accepted that she wasn’t going to get a real answer from her ward, and sighed. “Very well then.” She put a hand on his arm. “Come now. I have an insightful question for you, as well as answers…”


	2. The Time That Hammer Had No Idea

The moment Sparrow woke up, he knew something was wrong.

 

As a kid, he and Rose had had an equally strong immune system. Back then they’d just chalked it up to luck, never getting colds or the flu when winter rolled into the streets. Even a small bug could paralyze a street child, keeping them from finding food or staying out of danger with aching joints, runny noses, and cloudy heads. He’d seen a couple kids fall ill, and then vanish not too long later.

 

Now, Sparrow was aware that it was the Hero’s blood that had kept them healthy and moving, even when the rats stayed inside their little holes for warmth and they didn’t eat for a week. It was the reason they, a young girl and her even younger brother, survived for as long as they did.

 

Though their Hero blood couldn’t keep everything at bay. During one winter that was seemingly mild (at least, compared to the one last year), Sparrow had fallen deathly ill. Rose had told him that she had been scared for him; he was burning like a torch, and constantly thirsty. He couldn’t sweat the fever out, and he wailed as he slept; she could only assume he was having bad dreams.

 

He was glad that he couldn’t remember those few, terrifying days. He just remembered eating some bread with a meager appetite, as Rose sat beside him, a strange look on his face that he sometimes saw on adults as they looked at him.

 

Rose was very adult-like, but she was still a kid. They were both kids.

 

Well, not anymore.

 

And on this wonderfully horrible morning, Sparrow felt really bad.

 

He just...ached horribly. Nausea. Shivers. Blurry eyes. He groaned, turning over and trying to go back to sleep before the sensations got any worse. He did NOT want to do this right now, not today, no thank you. His fingers groped for the hem of the blanket, tugging it up over himself.

 

He shrieked as there was a loud _BANG BANG BANG_ right next to his ear. Fire burst on his palms as he scrambled upright, ready to fight and possibly burn some faces off. He was rudely met with Hammer, who was laughing at him while holding a frying pan and her signature weapon: another hammer.

 

“G’morning, sleeping beauty!” she bellowed, a huge smile on her face. “The sun is up, the bandits are singing, and the day is new!” Meaty hands grabbed his leg, which was- sadly- outside the blanket. “Up!”

 

When the hell did Hammer get so much energy? He really didn’t care, and would rather it go off itself and die in a hole. Go away. He groaned and yanked the blanket up over his face.

 

“Oh, no ya don’!” And then the blanket came off. He internally screamed as the sunlight slapped the sanity out of him (his eyeballs were smoking) and externally made some sort of dying animal noise. Hammer just laughed at him, though she sounded a bit annoyed at this point. “Come on. Westcliff will crumble befo’ we get there at this rate.”

 

Reluctantly, he sat up. It was a misty morning, smeared with clouds and a chilly humidity in the air. It was definitely going to rain later. The smell of saltwater was on the breeze, and Hammer was cooking...something possibly edible over the fire. Really, all he could tell was that it was being roasted, and it was an object that Hammer had deemed fit for breakfast.

 

Dog was already awake as well, laying by his side. He lifted his head, sniffing at his owner and whining, before licking the man’s cheek. Sparrow pulled a face, not wanting puppy kisses at this exact moment, and gently nudged the dog away. Another whine came, but the mutt stood up, going over to the fire and sniffing at the breakfast Hammer was making.

 

“Ay, don’ do that!” Hammer pushed Dog back. “Ye’ll burn your snout!”

 

_Whine…_

 

“Alrigh...don’t gimmie that look…” She picked up a piece of the stuff (ah, it was a sort of meat and biscuits) and quickly gave it to Dog, who eagerly chowed down. “Someone’s hungry,” she teased, petting him on the head.

 

Sparrow took a whiff of the air. Normally, he’d be head over heels for some food, especially when it smelled like this, but today, the smell made him more nauseous. The idea of eating anything made his stomach do flips. So when Hammer offered him some, naturally he declined.

 

“Whaaat?” She sounded disappointed. “Come on, I be nice and make us both something-” _BARK!_ “And make us all something, and- ah, never mind.” She sat down, taking her share and eating up. “Yo’r loss!”

 

He tisked at her with a hint of sass, which she ignored. His eyes felt heavy, and his back hurt, so he started to lay down again. Maybe a few more minutes of sleep while Hammer ate would help…

 

“You lay your head on that pillow and I’ll wallop yer lazy ass off into the sea.”

 

He paused, considering his options.

 

“...I mean it! Up!”

 

After a few seconds, he sighed, sitting up. He didn’t know if Hammer was just joking, or if she’d really pick him up and march down to the shoreline. He didn’t wanna risk it. So he sat upright, fighting chills and warm flashes as he kept his eyes closed.

 

How was he going to get through today? They couldn’t take a day to recover on the road. The image of Garth being captured by the Shard, just mere feet away from him, kept him from considering delaying their trip to Westcliff. He’d already failed once, and he wasn’t going to let Garth stay there any longer than necessary. Then again, could he fight in this state? He was a Hero, after all, and a Hero shouldn’t be brought down by...whatever this bug was. He just hoped Hammer wouldn’t catch it as well. Maybe it was caused by the sea and the wetness of the coast? No, no, it had to be something else…

 

His respite didn’t last long, sadly. Hammer finished her food, cleaned up camp, stomped out the fire, then grabbed him. “Up.”

 

Sparrow upped. He wasn’t too stable on his feet, but they were under him, and he didn’t fall back over. Hammer might’ve noticed, because she helped him clean up his bedroll while he planted his boots and tied his hair back. He always got the worst bedhead.

 

An hour or so later into their trek to Westcliff, he sadly did not feel much better. Every step was a test of his balance and fortitude, and every blink threatened to send him to sleep. He didn’t think himself a sissy, but so help him if it started raining like he thought it would, he was going to cry.

 

One thing that helped him through it was the ocean. He’d never seen it before now; all he’d heard about it had come from story books. In her stories at night, she told him it was ‘salty and big and dangerous’ (now that he thought about it, Rose had probably got her info from the library too), and he hadn’t been able to really picture it right. Besides, it didn’t really matter, right? Sparrow rarely saw the river, and he never went outside the city, so he didn’t have a chance to see the wharf, either. A big, salty body of water of water? It didn’t make sense!

 

The largest thing of water he could imagine throughout his young years was Bowerstone Lake. It wasn’t salty, but it was the best he could do. He’d swum in it a lot, enjoying the activity, and found it was very dark and deep in the bottom, filled with strange plants and little treasures. And so, that’s what he thought the ocean was: a large pit of water filled with weeds and tiny rocks, where you could barely see the bottom and you swam in whenever you pleased.

 

Oh, but this was different. It smelled like fish and a sort of briny thing, and it made the air cold. It was huge, so big that he couldn’t see the end and it made him feel very, very small. It was wild, too, stirring up waves that were as tall as him and crashed into the rocks below. This was not Bower Lake; this was a beast. He felt the salty breeze on his face and felt clearer, stronger.

 

Sadly, the sea didn’t magically fix everything. He still felt really crappy. He did his best to occupy his thoughts with something other than the mental equivalent of a dying wail. It wasn’t easy, but he started telling a story in his head about the people in Old Town: what happened to Derek in those ten years? Who did Arfur try to swindle? How was Nicky the Nickname finally caught?

 

He settled on a dramatic tale. The warrants were copied by Derek and posted all over Old Town for everyone to see. After a few days, a scrappy little kid (Sparrow named him Ivan, because why not?) ran up to Derek, exclaiming, “I’ve found ‘im! I’ve found ‘im!” and jumping up and down. The kid slept beside some crates near the Old Town gates, and had sometimes seen angry looking people near the river. Last night, though, he’d heard one of them talking about the man! The man on the warrant! The men had growled about Mr. Nickname, then had followed the river down to some sewers, slipping inside! Ivan ran straight to Derek and told him, wanting a reward.

 

Derek was very happy, and gave the street rat some food and money, before saying that they needed to catch the Nickname. Ivan showed Derek the spot, and the two had ventured under the sewers. An incredible battle went down, where Derek shot and captured many of the criminals, while Ivan tripped them and knocked barrels on their heads. In the end, Nicky the Nickname tried to escape through a manhole, only to find the entire Old Town Guard waiting for him! He was captured, and all his men were locked up in jail (save for Arfur, the slimy creep managed to get away), and everybody rejoiced! Old Town was happy again! The end.

 

Honestly, he had no idea what really had happened. He was just making stuff up as he trudged along.

 

After a while, Hammer noticed that he was being quiet. Well, not in that sorta way; he was always quiet but he seemed pretty withdrawn with his body language and expression today. She clipped him on the shoulder, making him stumble. “Oy, something on ya mind?”

 

Not wanting to worry her, he shook his head. Besides, he wasn’t actually worried about anything.

 

Hammer frowned, looking skeptical. “You sure? You ‘aven’t been acting-”

 

He cut her off quickly, communicating with her by rubbing his eye with one fist and giving a false yawn.

 

“Tired?”

 

Sparrow nodded.

 

“Ah. Alri’. Just don’t fall off the cliff or any’ing.”

 

Dog, on the other hand, looked cross (if, of course, a dog could look cross). He gave a growl-whine mix, looking to Hammer and bounding in front of her legs, almost making her trip.

 

“Hey!” Dog got a light bump on the head with her hand. “Careful! I don’ wanna crush you!” He whined again, and Hammer frowned, lightly petting him in apology for her scolding. “Sorry...um. Do you have a name?” When the hound didn’t answer, she looked to Sparrow, who was looking at some trees with a vacant expression. “Sparrow!”

 

The gypsy startled, looking to Hannah. _Hm?_

 

“Does your dog have a name? I mean, I’m not against calling him ‘Good Boy’ all the time, but a proper introduction would be nice.”

 

He thought for a minute on how to get her to understand. Then, he just pointed to the dog.

 

“Yeah?”

 

More pointing.

 

“Yes, the dog! What’s his name?”

 

He sighed dramatically. He really didn’t want to have to do this right now. Besides, how was he supposed to explain that the dog’s name was Dog? He pointed more (“What are you doing?”), mimed a collar around his neck(“Is his bloody name Belt?”), and finally just smacked her upside the head none-too-gently (“Hey!”) and kept pointing at the mutt with vigor.

 

“What are you…” She looked from his hand, to his frustrated face, to the animal, who was sitting there quite happily. When it clicked, her face slowly turned into a huge grin. “Oh Avo, you’re kidding. His name’s DOG?!”

 

Sparrow nodded. Hammer burst into laughter, cackling about how incredibly stupid and awesome that was. He just groaned in response, not appreciating her making fun of the name. He wasn’t original, aright? He swallowed thickly as nausea rose up in his throat. Nope. No vomiting, not allowed. Not now. He turned, then froze, because there was a sword flying towards his face.

 

He barely ducked in time, avoiding shredding his nose on the sharp blade, thank god for Skill making him faster. Dog started snarling and Hammer came to attention, and soon, it was the two (three?) of them against a company of bandits. Where had they come from? Who knows?

 

Fighting when sick was hard. He immediately ditched the idea of using his crossbow (he wouldn’t be able to focus fast enough) and took out his sword, swinging harshly and wildly. Lightning engulfed his left hand as he did his best to slash deeply into anything that moved near him. Red blood spurted into his face and on his hands, but he paid it no mind.

 

He faintly heard Hammer give a war cry and heard a sickening _crack_ as someone took her hammer to the face. A peaceful monk of Strength was quite something, weren’t they? He blasted two men with blue electricity as when they got too close to him, then gave a bandit a wicked gash down his arm. He was being sloppy, he could tell, but the world was spinning, and the adrenaline wasn’t helping him focus on his situation either. So he swung, electrocuted, dodged, whacked, stabbed, and stumbled all on instinct. Any man who wasn’t a hero would definitely be dead by now. But he was special.

 

He didn’t realize he had been shot when he heard the bang. Gunfire was something he heard far too often (it didn’t help that it made him freeze up when he heard it, either), and it only felt like he’d been tapped on the side, so he barely paid it any mind as he shanked a man to kingdom come.

 

And then he lifted his arm to zap another and nearly screamed. His left shoulder felt like it was on fire, and he could feel something thick and warm running down his sleeve. Ah shit. He blocked a blow with his sword hand, stumbling back a few steps from the force. He couldn’t cast with that arm now, and he was already feeling a bit light headed from blood loss. He blocked again, shaking himself out of it and trying to keep himself from being impaled by a sword.

 

He shoved the man off, took a step back to get some distance-

 

And then he was

 

falling

 

and

 

Rock slammed into his back, then knees, then face, and he was tumbling down as the sky and ground did loopty loops around him. His arms flailed, trying to find a handhold of any kind but just getting dirt under his nails and scraping his palms.

 

After a minute that felt like an eternity, the world came to a sudden halt, and he was laying on his back and looking up at the sky. The sound of the ocean was much closer now, and he panted, disoriented and sore.

 

_I must’ve fell down_ , he thought, glancing over to the sheer cliff that was beside him. He could hear the sound of combat from all the way down here. Sounded like Hammer was giving them a run for their money.

 

He chuckled at the thought, then winced, looking groggily at his arm. Oh. That...was a lot of blood gushing out of him. It was bright red, and was staining the sandy earth under him.  It was pretty, in a horrible sort of way. His nausea had also increased tenfold, which also wasn’t good.

 

It dawned on him that he was probably dying. _Oh_ , he mouthed aloud to himself. He’d faced death before, and had always lived, but every time he did he was always still a bit uncertain if he’d wake up again. Well, nothing he could do about it now. His eyes felt heavy and the earth felt comfortable, and maybe Hammer would just think he fell, and he’d wake up like nothing much happened.

 

He closed his eyes, and let the sound of the waves wash over him in his delirium as he drifted off...

 

* * *

 

 

Whenever he ‘came back’ (as he liked to call it), he always felt a surge of power and adrenaline. It was Death kicking his ass back into the playing field of Life and telling him to ‘go get it!’ Or, in a more morbid sense, it was his body’s last huzzah, last scrap of willpower to live, yanking him to his feet. Whatever it was, it was 5 times more powerful than drugs, and he groaned.

 

There was a sweet taste on his lips, and he licked them, since he’d skipped breakfast. He only got a few drops of liquid, though, and he frowned, opening his eyes a little.

 

“..arrow? Spa- Oh thank Avo!” There was thick red hair and a relieved expression his face. “I thought ye were gone for!”

 

A soft “wuh” came off his lips unbidden. He still felt tired, now that the Death Adrenaline™ had worn off, and he felt how a bowl of stew felt: hot and moist.

 

“Ya fell off the bloody cliff! What did I tell you?” She scolded, probably trying to joke about her earlier warning. She put down the empty bottle of healing potion and put both hands on his shoulder, which was sloppily dressed with the sleeve torn. “Ya got shot, too. Stained the entire beach bloody. When I saw ya, I thought… Um, well, I’m glad yer alri’, at least!”

 

Sparrow didn’t answer.

 

“...Sparrow?”

 

He leaned over as far to the left as he could with Hammer holding his arm down, and vomited onto the sand.

 

“Aw, eew…” Hammer pulled a face. Dog, who had been laying by his right leg, promptly let out a snort of air and stood up, moving away. Rude.

 

Sparrow spit out the last bit of bile, then turned back forward, letting his head rest on the sand. He felt due for another nap, but with less blood loss.

 

“Ay, Sparrow, stay with me.” A hand smacked his cheek gently, before drawing back. “Oh, you’re hot!”

 

He smirked with his eyes closed.

 

“Not like that, you arrogant-” She seemed to take a moment to refrain from slapping him, then just placed it on his forehead. “Mmm, yeah, yer too warm. Could ya open your eyes for me?”

 

He did so, though they felt heavy and he was tired.

 

She frowned deeper. “Yep, that’s a fever if I’ve evah seen one.” She moved over to the side, nose wrinkling at the stench of vomit. “Hold still...yep, healing potion fixed it up. Try not to move it though.”  She huffed as he closed his eyes, and then suddenly there were hands around his waist and good. “Alrigh’, up we go!”

 

His stomach lurched again as he was gracelessly picked up and put over her shoulder. She was very strong, and on the tall side, so he wasn’t surprised she could do it. That didn’t mean he was happy, though. He smacked her back with his fist.

 

“Oy, stop that!”

 

He just kicked his legs for a minute or two, before giving up. _...I can walk on my own._

 

She seemed to read his thoughts, because she said, “Nu-uh, ya stubborn mule. You’re sick and just fell down, I dunno, hundred feet or two?” He was shifted a bit so she could hold him better. “No wonder ye tipped down...Honestly, how did you stay on your feet this entire time, let alone fight?”

 

He just shrugged. _Eh._

 

Hammer huffed, and started walking along the shoreline. “Probably gonna have to find a way back up again down south… Stupid gypsy. How have you survived this long?!”

 

Ah yes. Let her believe that he was among the living. He just smiled ruefully to himself. There was no need to worry her about things that even he didn’t understand. The many deaths he’d had, from gunshots and tower falls to other, less graceful things. He’d made so many foolish mistakes, yet Death never took him for more than a moment or two. So long as he kept coming back, it made no difference to him, and he never second-guessed it.

 

Sickness would not take him. Falling would not break him. Bullets would not kill him.

 

So he said nothing of it, and fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparrow is too dumb to die, TBH.


	3. Regarding the Spire

Sparrow like brawling. He liked swords and leather boots, flirting with women and getting drunker than a skunk when he thought it wasn’t important to be hangover-free the next morning. He kicked chickens to high noon, and rarely bathed.

 

Sparrow liked dancing. He liked flowers and sock puppets, and he tossed coins to the ragged kids on the streets as he passed them by. He loved his dog to bits, and was oddly perky for a gypsy who had lived on the streets of Bowerstone for half his childhood and had mourned for the other half.

 

Sparrow liked his hair long. Sparrow liked his hair messy. Sparrow liked colorful beads. Sparrow liked to do stupid things. 

 

Sparrow was….Sparrow.

 

Sparrow didn’t like to talk, not really. He grunted and whistled and cheered, and he danced and clapped and made funny little noises that didn’t make much sense, but he didn’t talk. He wasn’t mute (the gibberish that passed through his lips made that clear), and he wasn’t shy (at least, as far as one could tell). It just wasn’t something he did.

 

Sparrow was very Sparrow-like, though what made him Sparrow was hard to distinguish. It’s like what made a fish a fish, or a book a book. It was Sparrow.

 

Guard 273 was not Sparrow.

 

Guard 273 didn’t ‘like’ anything. Guard 273 did what he was told. He watched prisoners, he took orders, he stood and waited. Guard 273 had no personality, because he wasn’t supposed to be a person. Guard 273 was a thing.

 

He was a thing. An it. 

 

A number. 

 

He was a number. 273 was the number, and that was him. He was it. It was a number in a long chain of numbers and people and its. He was nothing more than the next link in the chain.

 

Guard 273 was nothing.

 

Sparrow. Sparrow was nothing.

 

He was getting seasick.

 

Currently he was in the hold of a large ship. He had locked himself in one of the quarter rooms (it might’ve been the captain’s, or the second mate’s, because it was nicely furnished) less than an hour after setting sail from the Spire. Nobody had come to look for him, because he was nobody.

 

Everything had just happened so quickly. One moment, he was following orders, going to search for a missing guard, then the next he was free, and fighting, and then they were sailing away from the Spire. He didn’t know what to really do during that time. He only knew two things: how to swing a sword, and that he needed to protect Garth.

 

And so, he’d stabbed and kicked and blasted like mad, his muscles helping him remember how to when his head didn’t. He vaguely remembered killing the Commandant, which had paralyzed him with fear, because killing your superior was so horrible that it had never been mentioned in any rules. Then again, he had felt a bit of satisfaction in stabbing him. And then they were fighting again, and escaping, and now he was here.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in there, wedged beside a chair and gripping onto its wooden leg as the floor rocked beneath him. He’d stood up straight at first, spine ramrod, but over time he found that was too difficult, and he’d sat down. There was a small window which let in light, but he didn’t pay it any attention. He was too focused on the floor.

 

Where were they going? He could vaguely remember grass, cobblestone streets, and sunlight (he’d forgotten about them on purpose while he was in the Spire, so he wouldn’t miss them), and something about a tree. A golden tree. 

 

He’d had a dog, too. Sparrow couldn’t remember exactly what a dog was, but he knew he’d had one.

 

A few memories and sensations had come back to him as he sat there in the hold. The ocean (and the taste of vomit, along with something sweet). Birds (gulls were what he could hear right now, but he knew there were other kinds). The sky (it saddened him terribly that he could forget something like that existed). But a great many were missing, and if he’d had hair, he’d be tearing it out in his frustration. He just wanted to remember.

 

273- Sparrow- was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t catch the door opening. He looked up, squinting a little bit to see who it was. It was Garth, with his dark skin and blue veins.

 

The two of them stared at each other for a minute or two. Then, Garth spoke up. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

 

He was quiet. After another few moments, Garth closed the door behind him. He walked up to the Spire guard, taking in his strange position on the floor. “Are you ill?”

 

Though he was feeling uncomfortable, he wasn’t going to start vomiting all over the floor. He gave the smallest of headshakes. 

 

“Good,” was all Garth said about that, still looking down at him. This was a bit awkward, Sparrow thought. “Why are you on the floor?”

 

He opened his mouth for one reason or another- maybe to speak, but he doubted it- then closed it. There was no right answer to this question that he could communicate to Garth. Maybe he  _ should _ just pretend to be sick. It was a better answer than ‘I have forgotten how to function’.

 

Garth let out a hefty sigh. Then, to Sparrow’s utmost surprise, the mage sat down on the wood floor across from him. “Have you been on the upper deck since we left?”

 

He shook his head again, the action making him dizzy.

 

“The other men are curious about you. They’ve never seen people quite like us before.”

 

_ Spire Prisoners? _ Sparrow thought dryly. Garth must’ve guess what he was thinking, because he said, “Archons.” ... _ ah.  _ What was an Archon, exactly?

 

More silence. Sparrow didn’t like this. Garth always had this slightly disapproving tone and look, despite his polite words, and he was starting to miss the pulsing of the Spire, for which the waves were no good replacement. Some twisted, abused part of his mind wished he was back in the stone walls, standing quietly and feeling the heartbeat of the Spire under his feet. It was comforting in the sense that it was familiar.

 

“I don’t expect you to be at one hundred percent right away.” Garth’s sudden words interrupted his thoughts. “Getting out of the Spire was tough, but returning to the real world will be tougher. It will take time.” 

 

The gypsy turned guard looked at Garth in confusion. Garth simply stood up, turning to leave. “I’d suggest you come upstairs when you’re ready. The air will do you good.” 

 

The door shut behind him. Sparrow spent the next few minutes in silence, staring at his gloved hands and mulling over the man’s words. Then, he pulled himself to his feet, using the chair for support, and started for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

“If I didn’t know better… It is you! You old bastard!”

 

The strange woman crushed him in a giant hug. A choking sound escaped him as his arms were squashed into his side, and he got a faceful of cleavage. It hurt his ribs, but this felt sort of nice. When was the last time he’d been hugged by somebody? Or even touched without the intent of harm? Needless to say, he was a bit stunned.

 

The woman let him go, his feet falling back onto the floor with a thump. She was taller than him by a head or two, with thick red dreads and tired eyes. She was incredibly muscular, and wearing leather armor with beige sleeves, and many belts and buckles. There was the faint smell of ale on her breath.

 

He knew her. He  _ knew _ he knew her. But his brain wasn’t making the connection quite yet. Was this Hammer?

 

“Man, you look good considering,” she continued on, looking two steps from ecstatic. “I can’t believe it… you’re really here!” She took a swig of her bottle, finishing it in one. Sparrow was impressed.

 

Hammer- yes, that was her, he was sure of it- continued to ramble on about congratulations and hope. He didn’t hear a word of it, too focused on trying to remember her completely so that it would stop tickling his brain. She was the Hero of Strength. She was a monk-  _ had been _ a monk. Her real name was...Hannah? Sister Hannah. And he’d failed to save her father from Lucien’s men.

 

His fingers dragged through some warm fur that was sitting by his side. Dog was very, very happy, tail a-wag and panting with delight.  Sparrow had felt the same when he’d first seen Dog running down the docks towards him. It felt like a part of him that had been ripped out of his body had returned when he remembered Dog,  _ his _ dog, and how much he loved the mutt. He admitted that he’d spilled a tear or two over him.

 

“...a few times where I wanted to smack Theresa. Anyway, welcome back!” He blinked dumbly as he came back to reality. Hammer- Hannah? Hammer. Hammer looked at him funny, frowning. “You alright there? You’re lookin’ like I grew two heads or something.”

 

Oh shoot, she had been talking that whole time, and he hadn’t been listening. A bit of fear dripped into his veins. He was in trouble now, he knew it well. Ignorance was not appreciated, he’d learned that very well. It had been hardwired into him, listening and obeying that is.

 

Hammer put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched the tiniest bit, expecting a slap or a shock of pain from a collar that was no longer on him. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-

 

“Hey, hey calm down.” The shoulder quickly left. What was going on? What did he do wrong? What was expected of him? Where was the pain? When was it coming? Where was he? Was that his heart, or the Spire beating? Why wasn’t he being hit?

 

He was going to be shocked. That was it. His body was pumping adrenaline into him to prepare him for the shock, readying him. He could already feel the prickle of electricity on his neck, like the tiniest of scorpions preparing to strike.

 

There was nothing he could do to stop it. There was no forgiveness for a mistake, so he waited. But the shock never came. He could feel it tingling, tauting, but the collar never activated. Every passing second was a quiet agony as he waited. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be shocked, and the Commandant would do something worse to him.

 

The shove came soon after that thought. A sickening sort of relief flooded him. Finally, something was happening. They were making their move, and the punishment would go underway, and then it would be over.

 

...The ground he’d fallen on was very soft.

 

He opened his eyes, which had been screwed shut. He was looking up at a wood ceiling, and his jaw was sore. He must’ve been clenching his teeth. He breathed slowly, trying to get his heart to slow down, listening to the misty rain outside. What had just happened…?

 

“Are you with me?” Sparrow turned his head to the side to see Hammer, in all her bulky glory. Concern drenched her face (she never was good at hiding emotions). “You’re not going to pass out or anything, right?

 

He swallowed, then shook his head no. He felt all tingly, and a bit sweaty, like he’d just gone to hell and back. Or died and came back. Yeah, that was a better comparison, he thought, in his experience.

 

“Good. What was tha’?” she asked, plunging right into her questions. “You were just standing there like a big oaf and staring right at me. Didn’t respond or nothing. Then when I touched you ya looked like you were going to burst into a bunch of fireworks, and then bloody Dog started barking at me and causing a huge scene-”

 

Too many words. Too much at once. His fingers went to his scalp, hoping to run his hair back, only to find not much. They’d chopped it all off during his first few days in the Spire. Instead, he ended up just gripping his skull and trying to sink down further into the bed he’d been shoved onto.

 

Hammer noticed his rising distress and shut up, thank Avo. “Do you need some water or something? Just stay down, I’ll be right back.” She was off before he even had a chance to answer.

 

_ Okay, _ he mouthed to himself, letting his hand drop down beside his head and his eyelids droop. He felt tired, and confused. What had just happened? He’d zoned out, and then panicked. And somehow, he’d… He just sighed, not wanting to think about it, lest he get sucked back into that little slice of hell. A nightmare. 

 

He wasn’t in the Spire anymore. He was in Rookridge. It was raining outside, and he was lying on a soft bed.

 

He was fine.

 

A loud, enthusiastic bark, and some other clamoring caught his attention. He sat up, watching as Hammer came back inside the room. And in between her legs was Dog. He felt a wave of relief as the mutt leapt up onto the bed and licked his face, settling onto his lap like a warm blanket.

 

“I know ‘e’s not allowed, but it’s a bloody emergency! Sod off!” She yelled back into the hall (probably at the barkeeper). She slammed the door shut with her heel, then looked at Sparrow and Dog getting comfortable. “Got in right trouble for bringing him in. Worth it, I say. He’s a real troublemaker, but a sweet’eart.”

 

Sparrow gave a silent laugh as Dog’s tail wagged against the quilt. He couldn’t agree more. Anyone who hated Dog was heartless and cruel. End of story.

 

Hammer handed him a cup of water, which he took gratefully. His throat was very dry. Dog panted as she asked, “Do you know what tha’ was?”

 

Looking over the rim of the cup, he shook his head.

 

She was quiet for a minute, which unnerved him. He didn’t like Hammer quiet. It was unlike her. “Just...rest up for a bit, okay? I’m meeting someone who can help us out on our number three in Bowerstone.”

 

He frowned softly. She was leaving already? Memories of the Cow and Corset flooded his mind, along with a slimy butler. 

 

“Oh, don’ give me that- Look. I can stay here tonight. Another day won’t hurt. Besides, I bet you’re curious about what’s goin’ on in Albion, right? You’ve missed a  _ lot _ . Did you know that Westcliff’s a tourist attraction now?!”

 

* * *

 

Sparrow never did talk about the Spire. Not to Hammer, not to Theresa, not anybody. He didn’t want to, and though Hammer asked occasionally, she always switched to a different subject fast enough that he didn’t have to answer. Garth didn’t like small talk, and Theresa never mentioned it.

 

He lived in fear and confusion for the first few weeks. Phantom orders and tickles of lightning that really weren’t there haunted his waking moments. Restless tossing and and sleepless nights haunted the other half of his life. He feared another episode like the last; where he believed he was back, back in the Spire, and that the whole world was crushing him with its intensity.

 

Over time, however, he learned to deal. Sparrow fought harder. Sparrow slept less. Sparrow smiled when he was expected to, and let his hair grow back as long as it wanted. Sparrow did his very best to ignore the warning signs and become Sparrow-like once again.

 

Because Sparrow was a Hero. And Heroes had no choice but to recover.


	4. The Death of Barnum

There was crying in the darkness. He could hear it, a frightened, hopeless sort of sound that echoed through the dank halls.

It had been going on for some time now. He’d first heard it when he arrived in the crypt of sorts, having fitted Reaver’s dark seal into the door and walked in ever so casually. He’d been worried for her, wondering if she was in danger, lost and alone in this pit of a maze. But as he journeyed further down, he found himself more occupied with keeping his head upon his shoulders. The place was packed with hollow men, hobbes, and balverines, all made of some sort of shadows. He had to make sure he wasn’t slashed in half by the phantoms, whatever they were.

The crying kept going, which was good. It meant she wasn’t dead, and it gave him some sense of direction in the winding halls. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, Dog slinking at his heels, descending into the dark.

The whole place felt dark. Wrong. Like ‘there were insects and snakes in the cracks of the walls, just waiting to erupt and consume him’ sort of wrong. Reaver’s seal seemed to thob in his bag, and he wished to throw it into some dark corner and be gone with it. But no, he had to go through with the task if they wanted Reaver’s help.

He stabbed the last shadow balverine through with his sword. His heart pounded as he took a breather, sweating from the fight. There had been a great many of them this time. Nothing a hero couldn’t handle, but it still wasn’t fun.

A jump down a pit and a hallway later, the sobbing was very close. Sparrow became wary, slowing. Might this be a trap? A tug on his sympathy strings in order to draw him closer to danger? He doubted it, but the thought made him hold his sword a little closer to his body.

The sight that greeted him was something out of a bad dream. The room was like a large cylinder, the sky peeking up above him in a murky grey. In front of him, across a great chasm with no bottom, were three thrones, with skeletons sitting on them and candles lining the floor around them. And the walls…they were tombs. Hundreds and hundreds of tombs revolving around him in a spiral of death and decay.

There was a young girl standing there, weeping into her hands. She must’ve been where the cries were coming from. When she finally noticed him, she turned, face at first fearful and shocked, then desperate. “Please, help me! Me and some friends, we were reading from this really old book we found. It had all these strange words! Then there was bright light, and I woke up here? Where are we? I’m so scared… I- I just want to go home!”

He frowned, dread sinking into his stomach. She was teleported here after reading a tome? How old was she? He barely had time to think about it before there was a horrible sound. On the skeletons’ thrones were three shadowy figures, dressed in hoods. Their eyes glowed like ruby torches, and they had their hands clasped and crossed together. He heard Dog growl, and the girl beside him scream.

 **“Welcome,”** said the first one.

 **“Welcome,”** said the second one.

 **“Welcome,”** said the third one.

_What by Skorm is going on? What exactly DID Reaver send me into?_

The central figure continued. **“One of you carries the Dark Seal. But there are two. Only one is required. One will trade their youth and beauty so that the King of Thieves may retain his. This is the bargain we honor.”**

The situation became clear. Reaver had tricked him. Who else could the King of Thieves be? He took out the Dark Seal in alarm, feeling it start to pulse in his hand like an organ. _Oh no._

**“The rules cannot be broken. We will take whoever bears the Dark Seal. You must choose, quickly.”**

Okay. Alright. He was going to lose his youth and beauty because he had the Dark Seal. Would it kill him? Would the process hurt? What would he look like? Would he wither like a flower, becoming grey and weary? He wouldn’t be able to defeat Lucien as an old man. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could get out of Wraithmarsh as an old man.

Rage clouded his vision. Reaver. Reaver was going to die. At the moment, Sparrow didn’t care that the man was the Hero of Skill. They’d find a bloody new one, because Sparrow was going to murder him. That is, if he could even lift a sword after this.

A plead caught his attention. The girl was watching him, fearful as ever. Her face was streaked with half-dry tears. “Please. I just want to see my parents again…”

Wait a minute. He could just give her the seal instead of him.

His hands were moving before he realized what he was doing. He gave the girl the seal, and her eyes widened in horror. “What? No… You, you can’t do this. Please. Don’t. Please!”

His stomach twisted at the tone of her voice. What was he doing? He couldn’t do that to her… He couldn’t! But what about him? He couldn’t be a hero if he was withered and grey!

...Could he?

Maybe yes, maybe no. But he wasn’t about to give this girl up to these shadowed freaks. He took back the seal from the girl’s shaking fingers, berating himself for giving it to her in the first place. He wasn’t that sort of person. He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t. He was Sparrow, and Sparrow was good, even if he wasn’t sure that he should be.

And so, he found himself standing very, very tensely for about half a minute. His fingers clutched the rim of the Seal, cutting into the gloves he wore every waking moment. Its pulsing quickened. He started humming an old drinking song he’d heard Hammer sing a long time ago to distract himself. He was scared, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. Scared of what he would become after this.

If he would face Lucien an old man, then so be it. Perhaps they’d be evenly matched then.

Finally, the Seal stopped writhing. He looked down at it, confused. Okay, now what?

Then grey smoke clouded him, painful and stinging at his skin. His face twisted, and he dropped the Seal, clawing at his cheeks with his hands as they twisted in ways that they shouldn’t have. It felt like he was being squeezed dry, as if a damp towel, the vigor of his spirit being drained away. He heard the girl scream again, keeping his eyes shut.

Finally, after a short eternity, the smoke faded away. He opened one eye, and then the other. ...Okay, so he didn’t have cataracts. Good sign.

The girl gave another wail as the Shadow Men spoke up. “ **Reaver has again fulfilled the bargain. But when the sacrifices stop, we will come for him. This he knows.”**

The strange men faded from sight. Theresa spoke up through the Guild Seal as he rubbed his face, feeling lines that were certainly not there before. _“You are truly selfless. You sacrificed yourself for the sake of a stranger. Now Reaver must fulfill his part of your bargain.”_

 _Oh, you bet he will,_ he thought in return. He turned to the girl, who was wiping fresh tears from her face. When they met eyes, she paled, then bolted away, heading up the stairs for the surface.

Huh. That was weird. Did he really look that horrible? He tussled Dog’s fur, soothing the distressed dog’s whimpers. _It’s okay boy. It’s alright._ He stole a final glance at the cistern lined with coffins, then started out himself. He wanted to get out of here. And find a mirror as fast as possible.

 

* * *

 

  _His eyes were fucking glowing red._ Reaver was going to die yesterday.

He ignored the curious glances and statements of the Bloodstone townsfolk as he plowed his way to Reaver’s Mansion. Dog was plodding along at his heels, feeling his sense of purpose and making sure not to stray off. The Hero wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do to Reaver. He’d had some time to think about it on his way back through Wraithmarsh, and still couldn’t decide. The man was a Hero of Skill- THE Hero of Skill- so they needed him alive. That ruled out his initial ‘literal murder’ idea. He could stab him with magical swords and then pin him against the wall- no, Reaver would probably get off on that… Maybe fire? Or simply mangling the man’s offensive, flawless, kissable face beyond repair?

Therea’s voice echoed in his ear as he walked up the manor porch, but he was too wrapped up in his own scheming to pay it much mind. He marched through the open front door, over a finely woven rug, into the-

Camera flash.

He blinked the spots out of his eyes as Barnum spoke up. “We’re done.”

“And you’re _sure_ it will look like me~?” the bastard cooed. His anger returned to him, and he started towards Reaver as Barnum kept talking, fists clenched.

“Exactly like you, sir,” Barnum said, unaware of the quickly approaching Sparrow as he looked through the lens of his device. “In three months, the picture will developorized, and-”

“Three. Months?” Reaver chuckled. “That’s no good…”

He caught onto what was happening too late. Before he could say ‘chicken feet’, Reaver had drawn his pistol and fired. Sparrow watched, horrified, as Barnum’s body twisted and fell, lifeless.

His brain stopped working, all feeling draining from his limbs. Barnum? Dead? His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to process what he was seeing. Blood was leaking through the hole in Barnum’s forehead, right underneath his multicolored goggles. The inventor’s face was frozen in shock, the last feeling he’d ever felt. He was dead. Gone.

The world was muffled and grey as Reaver turned to him, smirking. “But oh dear! Not as vivacious as you once were. Those judges can be a nuisance, can’t they?”

Sparrow replied with dumb silence.

The man kept talking. “You have my eternal thanks for delivering that troublesome seal. Now, I have a confession to make.” Oh boy. “While you were away, it occured to me that Lucien is probably a bit miffed that you wandered off without his permission. Maybe miffed enough to part with a large heap of gold to get you back. And you know what? I was right! So, as fun as all this has been,” His voice gained a malevolent tone. “I’m afraid I must now return you to the Spire.”

 

* * *

 

The sound of Reaver’s ship being destroyed by the Shard was _heavenly._

“...Or not. Right! Well. Plan B.”

“There’s no escape from here! We’ll have to destroy- Sparrow _, why are you laughing?!”_

 


End file.
